


Parenthesis

by mitochondrials



Category: Captain America (Comics), Invaders (Marvel), Marvel (Comics), Namor the Sub-Mariner (Comics)
Genre: Early 1800s AU, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Misgendering, Namor the Sub-Mariner & Bucky Barnes Friendship, Non-Consensual Gender Reveal, Nonbinary Steve Rogers, Other, Regency Romance, Trans Steve Rogers, but not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23174656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondrials/pseuds/mitochondrials
Summary: Captain Steve Rogers is tasked with hosting Namor, The Prince of Atlantis, while trying to be stealth in early 1800s America. Throughout the time they spend together, Steve fails to realize that Namor has fallen in love with him until Namor unexpectedly proposes. It takes him just as long to realize he loves Namor back.
Relationships: Namor the Sub-Mariner/Steve Rogers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9
Collections: Marvel Rare Pair Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Marvel Rare Pair Bang 2019. My partner Heyboy drew such beautiful art inspired by this that you will find embedded within the fic. You can also view and reblog it on tumblr by clicking [here](https://heyboydraws.tumblr.com/post/613147182490697728/art-created-for-the-just-incredibly-amazing-fic)!
> 
> The title is my first not taken from song lyrics and is in fact a kind of inside joke with myself. (I have a bad habit of using parentheses in my fic titles, okay.)
> 
> A huge thanks to Judy The Dreamer for the beta!
> 
> This story takes place sometime after an AU version of the 1812 war, between 1817 and 1819, but the timeline is mostly vague. I have mixed some historical accuracies with very fictionalized ones, especially in regards to cultural acceptance of gay couples and the roles of women. Basically, it’s as if the 1800s met the 2020s. 
> 
> I ask that you keep in mind that transgender and nonbinary people don’t necessarily share a universal experience together. As such, because I’ve made Steve transmasculine in this story, not all transmasculine people share a universal experience about their journey and how they view their bodies. I based Steve’s experience largely on my own being a transmasculine nonbinary person myself. 
> 
> This story is also the first I have ever attempted to write Namor, a pretty big challenge in a period romance focusing on a transgender character, but I’d like to hope I did a decent job keeping him in character. 
> 
> Jim and Toro are the only main Invaders not present or mentioned. I had originally planned to add them later in the story, but then I risked not making the deadline because it’s impossible for me not to ship Jim together with Namor and Steve. This is exactly how the hypothetical sequel I have plotted in my head goes, however.
> 
> Now, please enjoy!

Steve was busy setting the kitchen on fire when the ship for Prince Namor arrived along the coast. 

It was a very strange and stunning piece of technology; at least, that was how Sharon and Bucky recalled it later. The ship was angular and looked like a large metal fish. The Atlanteans, who were Prince Namor's people, sounded just as unique as their ship. They were elegant, dressed in fine robes and jewels, and their skin was as blue as the sea.

Namor himself was beautiful. He was not blue, but instead had a golden tan complexion as if he delighted laying naked in the sun. For all intents and purposes, he might as well have been nude, since he was barely dressed in anything besides a white royal mantle with golden clasp and green-scaled underthings. They certainly were not breeches. His legs were exposed and freshly shaved. All of him was impeccably clean-shaven, much to Steve's dismay.

Namor's clear displeasure alleviated Steve of the feeling quickly as Namor inspected the counter and the very crudely built stove Steve had managed to singe. Then Namor's sharp eyes homed in on him, and Namor scowled as if Steve had done some great insult by being properly dressed.

"Welcome to Louisiana, Prince Namor," Steve said. He held out his hand for Namor to shake. Namor simply cocked his head and continued to scowl. Maybe it was the hot, humid sea air? Steve hated the ocean personally and was not fond that the house was located so close to the water. He could not be angry at Namor for that. "To specify, welcome to the United States of America." 

"Hmph," Namor had finally decided to speak. "Captain Rogers, was it?" He accepted Steve's hand and squeezed hard enough for Steve to feel the pain ripple through his knuckles. Steve was both mortified and deeply impressed; what raw strength the Atlanteans must have that their own prince can best a super soldier! 

None knew Steve was a super soldier, of course. In fact, apart from a small fraction of the military, Bucky, Sharon, and, Sharon's aunt Peggy, no one knew what the words super soldier even meant. He was simply Captain Steve Rogers, known most for his stylish tastes and gentlemanly nature. 

Steve countered Namor's grip by squeezing back and mirroring Namor's strength just enough that he forced Namor's wrist to twist uncomfortably. Namor's fingers slipped, and Steve pulled his away like he had been bitten by a snake. Strangely, Namor was grinning.

Having adjusted his sleeves, Steve opted to give Namor a tour of the house and promptly ignored what such a grin could imply. Or, he ultimately decided, he decided to show Namor the parlor which was back down the stairs and directly across from the library. 

"We have no servants," Steve said as he walked briskly through the door and down the hall. The upper floor was intended for servants, but it was a mutual decision on their part not to bother with hiring an entire staff just to have them fired weeks later. Instead he, Bucky and Sharon took turns carrying out the various household duties. "Your room is to the other side of the main hall, across from my own. Miss Carter and the boy, Barnes - whom surely you have been already acquainted with have their rooms further down, respectfully." 

"Respectfully. You say that as if it has any meaning to me." Namor sounded amused. He kept stride beside Steve as his mantle swayed elegantly around his lithe and muscular frame. He was so light on his feet, and that was when Steve noticed the small, white wings attached to his ankles. They fluttered and Steve stumbled right into Namor in shock. 

Namor braced against Steve's sheer bulk and practically held Steve in what would be considered a very intimate hug. It made Steve feel like giant to him in comparison; an idiotic, very pink and angry giant. The cause was due to how Namor's left hand rested underneath Steve's own chest. Should Namor feel compelled to move his hand any higher, he would soon discover Steve's most deeply held secret. It was more important than his being a super soldier because this secret was worse. This secret was the real motivation behind the experiments and the pain he had endured to become the super soldier; this secret was that he was not a man. He did not enter this world with a man's body, and he still did not have a man’s body. 

Before any rational thought could cross Steve's mind, he pushed Namor into the banister at the edge of the stairway where they had stopped. Upon impact the wood was torn, and it splintered apart like fabric being frayed. It miraculously did not cut Namor's skin. Namor was barely scathed at all, as he had balanced himself on the heel of his foot and elegantly centered himself once the damage was done. Furthermore, Namor was all but beaming at Steve in approval. 

Steve quickly concluded he did not want it.

"I will beg your pardon, sir," Steve said. "I can assure you my intentions were not to cause insult and yet, so it seems I have done exactly as such."

"Hardly," Namor replied, his voice having deepened and grown rather cocksure. "You have already apologized where most of your species would have placed the blame elsewhere, should they ever have acknowledged the slight in the first place. You have also proven my first impressions of you wrong. I assumed I was to be bored out of my wits going by the manner of which you dress." Then he motioned to Steve's ripped white shirtsleeve. 

Steve refused to panic while Namor watched. His wardrobe was artfully styled and thus his attire was picked equally with care. Each piece was meant to compliment Steve's person, and he was very much aware it was an uncommon fashion for someone of his station. Soldiers and judges wore robes and those horrible powdered wigs as a symbol of their status. Steve preferred a more handsome appearance, even having grown his hair out past his jawline to better compliment his face.

"There are many men who fancy themselves a Dandy," Steve said finally and removed the shirtsleeve from his mind. "I would reason that our character cannot be so easily compared." 

Namor seemed to roll the word Dandy around in his mouth in an attempt to find its meaning. Whether he found it or not, Steve did not know as he continued towards their rooms, astonished he had forgotten English was not Namor's native tongue. 

  
  
  


In the months that came, Namor acquainted himself rather dismissively with the local society. He and Bucky quarreled constantly (not that Bucky helped), while he was mostly civil with Sharon as he enjoyed the books she recommended to him. Steve avoided Namor when possible, but otherwise Namor seemed to prefer his company best when the prince was not busy or isolated in the library. 

Namor was always disagreeable. He hated all of Steve's tea. He refused to dress properly and drew in crowds of girls that wanted to admire his exposed midriff, framed by the tailcoat Steve purchased for him. Namor complained about the bath being too small and how much he hated having to pour his own water into it. Yet, he also complained the one-time Steve boiled and poured it in a kind gesture. 

It was not all terrible. Namor loved cooking and fine cheeses and breads. He would insist Steve sample whatever he made that day. Then he would knit badly proportioned scarves after much encouragement and gifted them solely to Bucky as some form of insult. 

What Steve was not prepared for was when he walked in on Namor dressed in Sharon's light green Antebellum dress. The two were in the parlor, and Sharon had dragged down her tall dressing mirror so as to allow Namor a better view of himself. The dress barely fit around Namor's waist, yet it still looked beautiful on him and the color complimented the sea green of his eyes. His hair was damp and curled tight into ringlets, as though perhaps he had just taken a swim in the ocean like he was prone to do. 

Steve envied Namor's confidence to do as he pleased, whenever he pleased. Namor was a siren and he was no less than a man because of it. Steve had always yearned to wear a gown so confidently and unconcerned about the lie that he had always been a woman really wearing the mask of a man. Steve wanted to be himself, someday regardless of what other people would think. 

What Steve himself hated most of all, hypocritically, was how Namor loved to dance. Steve had two left feet, whereas Namor would ever-so-gently guide him around the ballroom floor. They were almost the same height when Namor opted to remain barefoot. Usually, Steve adored dancing, even knowing he was too tall and too large and could not lead or remember the steps. Here, being led across the floor, Namor made Steve anxious. He knew Namor was further testing his strength, yet Namor avoided Steve's daily training sessions out in the yard. Steve could not place what it was Namor wanted. 

One morning Steve mustered enough courage to broach the subject over breakfast. Bucky was out chasing girls around at the saloon and Sharon was away on business. He and Namor were making hot cakes using the syrup he had purchased earlier that week. Namor had yet to try maple syrup but he had a taste for sweets much the same as he did for cheese in Steve's good opinion. It was not hard to convince Namor of the fact. 

"Pardon the intrusion," Steve said as he plated the first batch of cakes. "I am interested to wonder if you would enjoy a sparring match with me. Nothing too extreme; no weapons or armor. Just us, hand to hand." He let Namor pour the syrup.

Namor divided the cakes and poured extra syrup on his own once he had tasted it. Steve let him do that too.

"I am interested as to why you never remove your shirt when training. The air is moist and sticky, thus perfect for me and less so for you." Namor replied. It was true that the Louisiana climate was hot and humid, especially here near the ocean. It was also true that many sported more comfortable fashions during the summer's heat than Steve's own heavy attire. 

That was because Steve was compressing his chest by the use of stays he had redesigned to cover over his breasts. He hid the stays under two linen shirts of varying length, depending on the chosen outfit for the day. Then, he was always wearing two sets of underpants beneath his breaches. Inside the outer layer he had a special garment twisted around to mimic a cock nestled between his legs. This system prevented the garment from sliding down his thigh.

"I am comfortable enough, I can assure you," Steve said. 

"Hmph," Was Namor's typical reply when he was intent on being unreasonable. "I will spar with you only when it is truly on equal footing. I dare not risk being trumped when I cannot know it will be fair," he goaded Steve with a confident smirk. He leaned against the counter and ate his hot cakes with bare hands while he burnt Steve with such a piercing, sultry gaze. It was criminal.

Steve gave a gaze of his own in return. One less inviting and far more heated than Namor was clearly expecting. Steve then drove his point home by shanking his hot cakes clean into two, torn and mushed chunks. "You just want to fawn at my biceps," he answered bluntly. 

"I want to better understand this experiment that has begotten you with such raw power that rivals I, prince Namor. I have borne witness to it many times, but I do not comprehend in what way this has affected your physique." Then, like a lantern having flickered to life. "Ah, you think I will not find you attractive from what has been done to you." 

There had been no reason to believe Namor was being dishonest, and Steve knew he should have been blessed by Namor mistaking Steve's true reason for denying such a simple request; yet Steve could not deny the sudden sense of unease that settled into his chest. 

"It sounds worse when you say it in such a manner," Steve said and accepted the bait. Perhaps he needed to keep a closer eye on the prince in the future. 

  
  
  
  


Steve started in the library. He had never concerned himself with what Namor wanted to read; and, unfortunately, found it rather difficult to piece anything together. Namor had been so clueless about their world that he seemed to have read every book available to him. He kept notes and journals. He had written rebuttals about the romance novels Steve liked to collect. Namor had separate journals dedicated to English grammar. It was endless. 

Next, Steve dared to explore Namor's room. It was well-kept and neat. It was also very, very blue due to Bucky's insistence, with seafoam green and gold accents. Steve imagined this became the subject of Namor and Bucky's many petty arguments. When Steve opened the wardrobe, he was struck by the care Namor tookin folding and hanging each piece of garment. This included the linens Steve handpicked just for Namor. The linens that Namor never wore. 

In the end Steve had found nothing. Worse, he was ashamed and confused by the implications of Namor's affection towards him. As a whole, Namor treated him reasonably. They were acquaintances brought together by circumstance, and as far as Steve understood, nothing more. 

"Perhaps he is equally fond of all of us," Steve thought stupidly to himself. 

  
  
  
  
  


Much later, when Steve was on his return trip home from the sheriff's office, he spotted Namor who was standing in the shadows outside one of the local pubs. Namor was, of course, surrounded by a small crowd of women no doubt aiming to get him into their bed. The hour was late, and Steve knew better than to believe Namor had simply forgotten to check the time. Namor was prompt when it was Sharon's turn to cook, as she had been home rarely the past two months. No, Namor had been plenty aware that Steve was to be heading through this way because it was the quickest route on foot. 

Steve approached with caution and Namor greeted him with a sharp, predatory smile. There were five women in total, and much to Steve's surprise, two men seated on the back bench. Namor himself was leaning with his back against the wall and his arms were crossed. The rest of the group instantly turned their heads in curiosity and, once they recognized who he was, started tripping over their feet to greet him.

"A drink, Captain?" one of the women asked and beat the others to the punch. She was a waitress with dark hair and hazel eyes who was very well dressed for her station. 

"Ah, you will forgive me," Steve said. He hated the attention admirers thrust at him. He did not maintain himself so well for anyone else but himself and detested being loved only for how pretty he is. "I am simply here to inquire of my good friend, Prince Namor, as I am already late to a prior engagement." He was also disinterested in whatever swill they tried to pass off as beer. The serum made him resistant to the alcohol's effects and he preferred something he could lavish savoring. 

"No offense has been taken," Namor answered in the waitress's stead. "I have simply been waiting for you to arrive so that we might walk home together." He then dismissed the waitress with a bow, and promptly ignored the rest of his admirers in favor of hooking his arm around Steve's own. If the others were disappointed by the sudden turn of events, they did not show it.

Once Namor had led Steve into the street, he leaned into Steve's shoulder and said, "I have changed my mind about your offer to spar." 

"Have you now?" The unease that had settled inside Steve's stomach worsened. He did not have a good feeling about this at all. "Perhaps it can be arranged for tomorrow morning, then? I have no pressing business to attend till the week's end."

"I was rather thinking now," Namor said and came to a halt. The town was relatively small, and as such they had already made their way past it to the even smaller farmlands sited around it. He then placed himself directly in front of Steve and squared his shoulders, the very image of a regal prince. "I despise a match where it is nothing but absolutely fair between us. It is only honorable when we are both at a disadvantage to our surroundings and without our comforts."

"You say this as if you mean it as a compliment to me, but I think it is not so." How could it be, when Steve knew that Namor possessed other inhuman abilities besides his superhuman strength? 

Namor grew frustrated. "It is a compliment. You are the only man who can ever dream of rivaling the likes of I, Namor, The Avenging Son of Atlantis and her people. It is the greatest compliment you will ever know."

With that Steve snorted and the unease he felt melted away into a slow burning anger. Namor could be a pompous ass when it wanted to be, and if it had to be Steve who put the prince in his place, so be it. It also pissed him off that Namor would call him a man as part of a compliment. Steve knew it was petty because Namor had absolutely no clue. 

He had told Namor about the experiment and about his own super human abilities, but he kept the other details about what it had also done to his body a secret.

Steve had complimented Namor by trusting him. 

"Very well," Steve said, and proceeded to unbutton his tailcoat. He tossed it to the ground and anticipated Namor's next move. 

Namor did not hesitate. The very moment after Steve had agreed, Namor lunged forward and struck a blow at Steve's abdomen. Steve toppled backwards and busted through the wooden wall of a barn. His back took the worst of the damage as he slammed onto the ground, and all-the-while he felt the wood splinter and dig into his side. Namor kept pursuit, and he loomed over Steve before he took aim to strike an all-powerful punch down into Steve's gut. 

The blow had been sharp and knocked the wind out of Steve with a strength only Namor could achieve. It gave Steve a sudden excitement that Namor could rival him; could defeat him so easily. He forced himself to roll forward, caught Namor by his coat collar, and head-butted him right in the forehead. 

Namor staggered and listed to his side; meanwhile Steve savored the opening that gave him and struck a knee into Namor's stomach. Then, just as Steve made haste to escape Namor's grasp, Namor tackled Steve using the whole of his body. They grappled for dominance, with Namor's hand having hooked itself in Steve's hair like an iron grip while Steve's own hands had dug into the warm flesh of Namor's lower back; and they rolled together straight into the mud pit with the pigs who had been wailing in displeasure this entire time.

It was Namor that won as he once again pinned Steve between his legs. His fingers were still tightly pulling at Steve's scalp, but he cocked his head, and something sparkled in his eyes that Steve could not quite understand. He then loosened his grip slightly and pressed his free hand along Steve's upper thigh. 

Steve felt a jolt of panic shoot straight down his spine from the touch. His undergarments had twisted during their rather intimate match and the fake cloth phallus that was so neatly stuffed between his legs had slide down his breeches in a very obvious ball right by Namor's hand. Thus, Steve thrust his hips forward and knocked Namor off balance. Namor's grip was iron, but the move allowed Steve to snatch Namor's hand and interlocked their fingers together in order to distract Namor from his legs. 

Thankfully, Namor finally relented his hold and removed himself from Steve's personal space in one quick motion. "It would be a great pity to never see you in such a state again," he remarked, apparently pleased at Steve's state of disarray. It could almost pass for a compliment. 

"You must mean this as a kindness, of course," Steve replied impolitely. "I will kindly accept it as you are still new to proper human etiquette." He was soaked to the bone and he could feel the mud coating his skin; his clothes were ruined, and he was lucky it was dark enough no one would be able to notice the missing bulge in his breeches (except Namor). He wanted nothing, truly nothing of Namor's ill admiration. 

That seemed to give Namor pause. It was common for him to calculate in his head what he wanted to say before speaking; when he was not consumed by passion, that was. "I was not very honorable, despite my insistence prior," he said. "I forgot my intention once I got lost in the moment. You are most fun to spar with, Captain. I can assure you my admiration is sincere and you should not mistake it for malice." 

What did Namor mean by intention? Steve could not begin to guess, had it not been Namor's purpose to throw him off guard in the first place? He shoved the thought away, more concerned with needing to change into fresh, dry clothes. 

"May I?" Namor offered to help Steve to his feet. 

Steve quietly obliged, and he awkwardly pushed the cloth trapped within his inner thigh out of his breeches hopefully before Namor could notice. He kept his hands clasped together in front of him the rest of the walk home. He knew it would help little, but yet it kept his anxiety at bay.

They remained silent the rest of the walk home, and the rest of that next morning too. Had Namor been aware of what Steve attempted to hide, the prince did not voice it. Instead, he offered Steve a decently made plate of hash-brown potatoes later that afternoon. It was almost like business as usual. 


	2. Chapter 2

Weeks later, Steve received a letter from Captain Brian Braddock, an associate from Britain Steve had met during the war. Apparently, the captain had stationed himself in the Missouri Territory on account of supposed Hydra activity.

It was Hydra who assassinated Doctor Erskine, the man who created the serum that ran through Steve's veins. They were an organization bent on global domination, still believing in vile, outdated ideas such as Manifest Destiny and The White Man's Burden. Steve had vowed to eradicate them, but after the war their trail went cold. He was hesitant to feel joyful about their reemergence. It meant someone was going to get hurt if they had not been already. 

Steve, then, was even less joyous at the realization that his leave would mean Namor's return to Atlantis. Despite the misgivings between them, he had grown terribly fond of the prince, and instantly knew how much he would miss having Namor around. 

Yet, to his delight, Namor contradicted Steve's assumption almost immediately. "If this Hydra is as much of a threat as you say, then you will surely need my help to defeat them," Namor said once Steve had voiced his decision that same morning over breakfast. 

"You know I am coming," Bucky also said rather sternly. He had been the first to assist Steve in hunting down Hydra before Sharon or anyone else. His was an easier assumption on Steve's part. 

Missouri Territory was a vast region of land bordering Louisiana on the north, encompassing both small settlements and unexplored terrain. It had forests and mountains, and all such sorts of terrain not suitable for a carriage. They would need to take three horses and whatever they could manage to fit in a few small satchels for the journey once they reached the state line. 

There was also no guarantee of lodgings till they reached the town the captain had written from, and Steve prepared to make the most of what little home life they all had left. Then, he remembered to pack tents, one for each of them, and he strategically drew out what maps they would need for the best route. 

It was easiest to take a carriage just until the state line, and Steve had already planned that they would stay the night at the local tavern since the trip would be several days. The carriage itself was accommodating; it was spacious enough to where they were not crushed together, and the seating was soft and well cushioned.

Bucky fidgeted, and Namor fidgeted more. However, at least Namor seemed entranced by the view. Louisiana was beautiful and enchanting. They stopped to eat in New Orleans, for how could they not, and Namor seemed almost destined to stay. Of course, he was the first by Steve's side in the carriage as they carried on their way. 

  
  
  


They reached the state border within a week, and Steve was desperate for a hot bath to soothe his muscles which had become sore and very, very stiff. He also needed to alleviate his bladder rather desperately. It was bad enough that he had been holding it on and off during the ride here, as he had opted to piss only when he could comfortably hide the whole of his body from sight when they made occasional stops by the side of the road. 

It was harder to piss standing, sure. However, he was less anxious about being caught without the correct anatomy. The public stalls were unreliable and quite honestly unsanitary because neither were they regulated nor were they segregated by sex. Now, a lack of segregation between sexes sounded pleasant in theory, but Steve had grown to know from his youth as a young girl how others will exploit a situation for cruelty. 

Steve paid for three rooms at the front of the tavern to the barmaid, and internally groaned at the cost of the additional fee for three separate bathtubs plus the hot water. The tavern itself was very elegant and featured white and red flowered wallpaper with dark wood embellishing. The rooms were of decent size while the bedding was lush and consisted of three blankets and a full duvet. Even the chamber pots found under the bed, the very prize Steve had been desperately seeking this entire time, were elegantly embellished and were large enough to sit on comfortably. 

He decided standing would be the quickest option; and see, he carried with him a handmade piece of clay pipe constructed to be pressed against the genitalia where it would mimic the look and function of a cock pissing. It was not the most comfortable, and it certainly was not the easiest to keep clean, but he felt uneasy without it. 

"Pardon me," Namor said from behind Steve in the doorway. He sounded as if he was just as startled as Steve had been, which was impossible because Steve's heart nearly burst free from his chest while it thumped madly inside the confines of his skull. 

He stuffed the pipe inside the second layer of his undergarments and rushed to button his breeches, ashamed that he had forgotten to shut the door. "No, no. That was my fault. Forgive me," he said, mortified. He must have been beet red from head to foot. Hopefully he had stuffed the pipe in a flattering position. 

Namor chuckled and invited himself in. "I canceled the bath for my room. We can share, can we not? I had not realized you were so low on funds, otherwise I would have brought some of my own fortune in order to assist," he said. He was no longer wearing anything besides the green-scaled undergarment he much favored. 

"You surely could reimburse me?" Steve tried to argue. Yet he knew it would only be a matter of time before they would have to share their resources. Perhaps it would not be so bad to start now. "No, no. Never mind me," he said before Namor could speak first. "Thank you." Then, "Uh, would you care to step out a moment while I - uh, prepare." His face had definitely been on fire if it had not been already. 

Namor eyed him over before he consented and courteously shut the door behind him. 

Four of the tavern's staff had to carry the bathtub up the stairs and pivot it through the door. Three other maids came and filled it with hot, steaming water once it was placed near the end of the bed. It was very big, big enough to fit two super soldiers of Steve's immense size, and it was round and made of a study, well-coated wood. 

Steve shucked his clothes and stashed the pipe beside the chamber pot under the bed, hidden from sight; he would deal with it later. Then he eased himself into the tub with an appreciative moan. He felt the heat opening his sore, abused muscles already. When Namor opened the door, he sat up straight and snapped his legs together, the moment robbed instantly from him. 

Soap, Steve thought in desperation. He needed soap to create a barrier between him and Namor's line of sight. Namor must have had superior vision underwater, and this was not the manner in which Steve wished to out himself, God willing. He poured far too much of the floral smelling liquid soap the maids had provided and found himself uncaring in the least about it. 

Namor seemed not to mind. Instead he sunk into the water opposite Steve and removed his scaled undergarment once fully submerged. Next, he dunked his head down, completely soaking himself to satisfaction. Meanwhile Steve tried not to panic and focused on shielding his eyes. 

"Would you like it if I washed your hair?" Namor asked after he was done. His eyes were slightly dilated, and he was automatically in good spirits. He must have severely needed the hydration after days stuck inside a carriage. "Perhaps it will help you relax? You are very tense, Steve." 

"I am not used to being so intimate with someone else. I know what they say about the military," Steve hesitated to say. "You are aware I am a special case."

"Indeed. I do not wish to impose."

"Ah, no. I am flattered you asked. I would like it - and appreciate it, if you helped me wash my hair Namor." There would be no conceivable way to both keep himself hidden in the water completely and not split the bathtub into two. 

Namor was careful, and he avoided entering too much of Steve's personal space. He stuck mostly to Steve's back as Steve adjusted himself to where his right side was pressed against the bathtub's edge. "Tip your head back for me, if you would please," Namor commanded. 

Steve obliged and he listened as Namor picked up the water ladle. Namor's fingers were gentle, with one hand holding the cradle of Steve's head. The other poured the water, and Namor was just as careful about aiming it so none ran down Steve's face. He was in bliss. 

  
  
  


Steve woke with a jolt. His memory was fuzzy at first, and he took in the room and the duvet wrapped snugly around him. He had been laid to rest in his bed and he realized very quickly he was nude beneath the duvet. His hair was damp ...because? Right. He and Namor had been bathing together.

He and Namor had been bathing together. 

How?

Steve sprung forward, and accidentally exposed his bare chest to anyone in view. Anyone, of course, being Namor, who had clearly found the time to dress in a pair of breeches and nestled into a chair he had put right next to the side of the bed. 

"Steve," Namor said with a hint of concern in his voice. "Are you alright?"

"Yes?" Steve squeaked in reply. He scrambled for the duvet, filled with dread upon realizing he must have fallen asleep when Namor was washing his hair. Worse, Namor had carried him to his bed and tucked him in; Namor had seen him naked, breasts and all. "No," he clarified. He tried not to give into the hysteria he could feel rising in his chest. 

Namor was concerned, genuinely concerned, and he lurched forward in his chair. He reached out his hand and grasped at the air as it appeared to dawn upon him that Steve would flinch from his touch. "Forgive me. Is there perhaps anything I can do to help?"

"I -" Steve did not know how to answer Namor's question. His mind came to a halt. The stress would be a simple task for his body to alleviate, but he was already exhausted mentally. Somehow, for some reason, Namor did not show disgust at what Steve was. "I do not know," he clarified after a pregnant pause. "I am, how do you say ... you have witnessed me bare, and -"

Namor raised an eyebrow. He always had very distinguished eyebrows that arched sharply and curved mid-way onto his forehead, a feature shared amongst his people that he had mentioned once during another argument with Bucky. That was so long ago. 

"And?" Namor asked, now very puzzled by Steve's extended silence. 

"You have witnessed me bare and yet conceal your opinions on the matter," Steve found his courage and said bluntly. He knew his fears were irrational because at the very least he could easily pummel anyone willing to threaten him harm. However, what he truly wanted was approval; approval from society, and approval from Namor most of all. 

It was a difficult thing to express who he was to others. How could one exist in a reality where everyone functions on the basis that there are two ways to be: male or female, when you are neither male nor female? The idea that transitioning from female to a person teetering on the masculine end of some unquantifiable spectrum made less sense than retaining his original body and social status was stuck in his head like cooled tar. He had to be stubborn about everything, and he had to be extra stubborn about the bad especially. 

"I figured my opinions inappropriately fueled your sensitivities in regards towards your person," Namor replied. 

"I dread what defects you might find in my appearance. I find it strange to say, but I value your opinion a great deal. You are a great friend, Namor." It was true. While the serum may have altered his muscles and redistributed where fat in his body sat, he still had breasts as well as his vagina and female reproductive organs. Furthermore, he had no issue retaining his female reproductive organs. He loved his vagina despite evidence to the contrary. He, however, loathed the sight of his chest because while they were always small and conformed to his new body much like pectorals, they looked wrong and sat at the wrong angle. 

Then Namor chuckled confidently. "There is nothing in your appearance I can find fault in. You are one of the loveliest creatures I have borne witness to in all my days, and I have grown deeply fond of you. You must understand by now that I can hardly tolerate your people’s limited view of the world, and that I also can barely grasp such limited definitions you all have about your genders; but I am aware that you are unique, and thus fear rejection."

He offered Steve his hand and continued, "I will never reject you Steve for being who you are. That being said, I must be clear. I am honored to have your friendship, however, I desire more. I am beyond fondness. I love you and I seek to ask your hand in marriage." 

Now Steve really felt like he had been blindsided. "I -" What. "What!?" He was flattered and relieved, and then he was fixated on all the times Namor would simply stare at him idly. Namor had not been staring, he had been ogling Steve - and Namor knew about him. Oh. Oh God. Namor had definitely seen the clay cock piece earlier and had the decency to ignore it. He felt himself flush in embarrassment.

"I - I don't know," Steve finally answered after he took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Allow me to think about it, if you would." He was not in the right headspace to make such a decision, and so suddenly. 

"Anything," Namor agreed. 


	3. Chapter 3

Steve hated to admit he had been denying his attraction towards Namor all these months. He easily confused it with envy and other such nonsense; and yet, he did feel genuine envy over Namor's own sense of self-confidence. However, now that Steve realized Namor was attracted to him in return and it was not simply some unfortunate misunderstanding, Steve had not been able to stop glancing at Namor whenever the opportunity arose. 

The three of them, including Bucky, had already made it midway to their destination from the Louisiana state border. Steve had sold the carriage for a fair price and bought three excellent steeds for the rest of their journey. Although Namor seemed to loathe riding horseback - and who was Steve to blame him - and he took to leading his horse while following alongside Steve barefoot. 

Namor also continued to remain in his scaled undergarment; an item of clothing Steve really needed to learn the proper name of in the hopes it would not sound so provocative. He would fill a large jug with water whenever they happened to cross a stream or a river, and then he would have Steve help drench him head to toe every few days.

Bucky was much too short and was barely the height of Namor's chest; meanwhile Steve and Namor were equally as tall as each other, and it made it impossible for Steve to avoid Namor's eyes unless he decided to play dumb and stare at the trees. The prince would stare back in a heated gaze, but otherwise, he had been the perfect gentleman and gave Steve all the space one deemed necessary. 

One morning, just as Namor found himself lounged comfortably against a rather large, very ancient looking tree, Steve took his time pouring the water over Namor's head and admired the way Namor's skin glistened in the sun's rays. 

"I am sorry I have yet to ask until this moment, but I am unsure what it is you want from me?" Steve asked. It was true Namor was kind and honorable despite his various faults, but there was the question of what a prince could have wanted with a mere foot soldier if it were not for Steve's super enhanced abilities. Steve very much doubted any ill will from Namor's part. 

"I cannot possibly be your consort. It is impossible for me to journey to your kingdom, and I refuse to take you from your people." Steve continued. That, of course, had been the other problem. Steve hardly knew a thing about Namor's culture or his people. 

However, Namor seemed smug. He shook his head under the water's stream as Steve poured and waited for his answer and sprinkled water droplets all over Steve in the process. "I do not see it so impossible to find a way for you to breathe underwater. If we cannot solve it with science, there is always magic; or both," Namor said.

Steve was taken aback. "Then you do wish me to be your consort?"

"I wish for you to be my equal," Namor corrected. "Because that is what you are."

"I barely know anything about you!" Steve raised his voice. He was suddenly both angry and flattered. "But you know perhaps too much about myself, and I dare say it does not make us remotely equal." Then, he placed the jug against the tree and stalked off across the clearing to find and feed his horse. 

Bucky's presence made it impossible for Namor to rebut, and in the days that came Namor kept a respectful distance that Steve grew to hate. He hated it more, armed with the knowledge they could not continue the discussion until after their investigation, for they were but a mere few days away from reaching their destination at the governor of Pierre's manor. It was just a bit farther north once they found the river again. 

  
  


The manor was breathtaking, provided the governor was a very wealthy man who had journeyed all the way from New York just to take office here. However, Captain Braddock was not present, and his acquaintance Lord Falsworth greeted them instead. He was far more distinguished than the governor and had come from England with his family to help aid the government against Hydra's meddling. 

"Jacqueline, my daughter, refuses to leave me to my own devices should I suddenly wish to rejoin the war effort. My time is far over, however. I am afraid I must leave all the fun to you and your fellow company, Captain," Lord Falsworth explained with a humorous smile. 

Jacqueline was relatively close to Steve's own age and kept her dress and long blond hair in a modest style. She fawned over Steve the moment she saw him, immediately locking arms with him and chattered on merely about something or another that Steve failed to keep up with. He was too focused on Namor glaring icy daggers into his back. 

Then Lord Falsworth also had a nephew who had been resting upstairs in the parlor due to a persistent headache that the large, sunny windows downstairs caused him. 

"Perhaps you would like to check in on him," Steve segued the conversation Jacqueline had been having mostly by herself as she and Lord Falsworth gave them a tour of the manor. "I would hate to not give him a proper introduction." To which, thankfully, she and her father gave them leave so they could unpack.

There had been enough space where they each had their own room and own claw-foot bathtub made of real porcelain. The maids would bring fresh hot water any time upon request along with warmed towels. A bath was heavenly for Steve's poor, abused thighs and he imagined Namor's feet were not any better for wear from all the walking the prince purposely endured. 

"I shall inquire about it after I finish dressing," Steve mused, glad he packed at least one pair of his best shirts. He loathed the rancher’s attire he needed to wear during the trip. It was not that they were not stylish in their own rugged sort of way, but they just simply were not him.

Having dressed, he nearly bludgeoned his nose on the door frame because outside in the hall Namor awaited fully dressed, including stockings and boots.

"Steve," Namor greeted and offered a hand. Steve could have sworn he had been dreaming had it not been for the very real, very tender touch of Namor's skin against his own. 

Namor walked with Steve into the dining hall and made certain Steve was allowed the choice of where he desired to sit. That, of course, was an easy answer, and Steve took his place between Bucky and Namor. 

Later, Namor cornered him in one of the empty rooms left unattended by the manor's staff. Steve made sure to keep Namor close throughout the evening regardless of how kind Jacqueline was, which, she was kind. She was also very beautiful, but she had not been Namor. Thus, Steve refused to let her get the wrong idea, especially considering that they had known each other but a day. He also did not want Namor to get the wrong idea either. He still took Namor's proposal very seriously.

"Perhaps you should sit down," Namor directed him to the small loveseat tucked away in the corner of the room. "I have decided to finally give you what it is you have been waiting for these past weeks on our venture here. I could not find a reasonable answer to your inquiry about my person without alarming you. However, I think it is a near impossible goal," Namor began.

"You say that as if I will suddenly hate you," Steve said in reply. He was concerned and dreaded what Namor had to say next, but he adamantly disagreed with Namor's assessment of the situation. It took a great deal for Steve to hate someone. 

"You might," Namor said with great certainty. He took a hesitant step forward so that Steve could better see him. "I purposely avoided any details about myself or my people because I was not sent here to befriend you. I was sent here to kill you, and --"

"Captain Rogers," Jacqueline had interrupted Namor before he could finish. She carefully entered the room with a lit candle that guided her way. "My father has requested a private audience in the study between the two of you."

"O-of course, Miss Falsworth." Steve replied. His mind reeled at Namor's words, but it would have to wait. He shoved it into the back of his head and forced himself to switch gears. "I will meet him now."

"Steve," Namor said.

Steve glanced at Namor and simply said, "Later, if you please," and hurried down the hall.

"Prince Namor," Jacqueline curtsied and followed quickly after Steve. She must not have heard a thing that had been said, and that gave Steve some relief. 


	4. Chapter 4

Later, it seemed, would not be for another two days.

Lord Falsworth wished to speak further about Hydra, specifically, the lack of evidence proving their occupancy besides a few whispered rumors. The forests, however, were vast, and it was impossible to hunt someone down without any clues what-so-ever. 

Thus, Steve began investigating the region as best as he could on his own for most of the day. If the local tavern knew anything, the barmaids did not wish to say. The town consisted mostly of mountaineers, ranchers, and a few wealthy patrons who loved the seclusion the area provided. 

That evening, the governor announced a ball for the next evening in Steve's honor. Well, Steve had his fair share of balls and small get-togethers. Sadly, he found them rather terrible affairs when one considered he made for a poor dancer and that he was awkward in the face of female attention. It was bad enough Jacqueline had her eyes upon him. 

This time would surely be worse because while Namor came to claim a seat beside Steve's at dinner, they both kept a safe distance from one another. Why, Namor even found it in him to hold a civil conversation with Bucky of all people! It made Steve's heart fond; Namor cared about Bucky perhaps more than anyone else, Steve included. 

Thus, Steve could find no reason to be anxious over what Namor had said that previous evening. He already knew with great assurance how much Namor loved him. He was more nervous about how he would admit to Namor he loved the prince back. Because he did love Namor back, he had loved Namor before he could even realize what was happening. It had been as simple as his eyes adjusting to the darkness once the sun had set. 

Then, before Steve retired to his room for the evening, he stopped and knew he needed to visit the town's market immediately. He would ask Namor for a dance, and then hopefully they could continue their conversation soon after in private. He wished to dress nicely for the occasion, more nicely than his usual attire. 

His popularity with the locals garnered him the opportunity to browse the tailor's selections after hours while the tailor busily worked on a gown for another client. He had not been certain what exactly he wanted, new breeches and a shirt, certainly. 

The soft linens used to make chemises reminded him of his days before the experiment. He missed them, as he missed wearing gowns and all the beautiful dresses. He recalled Namor wearing Sharon's antebellum gown ... and knew it would be far too much, far too soon. Yet, his eye caught a corset laid on one of the tables, waiting to be mended by the tailor.

A corset may be nice, he thought, if he could bear his chest being put on full display. It would otherwise be hidden. It would be a step, he realized. A step he could be proud of, and maybe a step Namor might also enjoy.

Ah. He flushed a bright pink. He had gotten ahead of himself there and shoved the idea away as fast as it had come. 

A corset it would be, then.

The tailor had to make Steve one straight from scratch, but she made no comment about a man requesting a women's corset, and she guaranteed it would be ready just before the ball. She only required an additional fee that Steve happily paid from the little money he had left.

The real issue had been in ignoring Namor during the day of, and so too Bucky, who understandably decided to help Namor look for Steve that very evening. Steve managed to elude them for a time by having stuck close to Lord Falsworth. There had not been any news about Hydra, and Steve had finally made proper acquaintances with Lord Falsworth's nephew, John Falsworth. 

John was an odd fellow with prominent buck teeth that Steve had been ashamed about staring a bit too long at. However, John was indeed handsome, and hardly bothered Steve with too much conversation. The man suffered chronic headaches, and for this Steve could not blame him.

Jacqueline had wanted to escort him to the tailor when Steve felt anxious enough to begin his walk into the market. He already knew he would need to sneak around the back of the manor just to get back inside after the festivities began. People, no matter who they were or where they lived, did love a good ball.

Namor spotted him from across the hall as he went, and yet Namor did not approach. Steve rushed out the manor's main doors while he had the opportunity, guilt heavy in his stomach. He hoped Namor did not think him angry.

  
  
  
  


It had already gotten quite dark by the time Steve at the tailor's shop. Winter came early in most parts of the Missouri Territory, and it had begun to snow here days ago right at the turn of the fall season. It delighted Steve very much, as he missed the ice and the cold. Louisiana had been beautiful, but it was also too hot and humid for Steve's liking. Here, the skyline was breathtaking, and the various hills and valleys amongst the trees made the perfect landscape to go sleighing. 

Namor would enjoy that, Steve mused. He knew the prince loved the cold as much as he did, and they could share a sled together because they would be engaged. Bucky liked to scream at the top of his lungs while he sled. The boy sometimes would use Steve's military shield back during the war, when he had been much younger and much, much smaller. 

Lost in nostalgia, Steve almost missed the odd figure that slithered it's way between one building and the next. Steve could have sworn it looked like a large bat, but in a blink, it was gone.

Odd.

He would investigate it later. For now, he returned his attention to the reason he had been there in the first place: his corset. He wasted no time. 

Correction. He wasted a good hour because once he did return to his room inside the manor -- a surprisingly easy venture he learned -- he discovered lacing the corset himself a near impossible task. Usually women had assistance with lacing corsets from either a family member or the female servant that attended to them. Steve refused to ask one of the manor's own maids, and instead leaned forward against his bed in order to reach the bottom of the corset first.

It was important to lace a corset in such a manner where the lacing was tied at the center. First you would start the lace from the bottom and then take it down the top, all in order to prevent bruising and other such problems. The bone poked into his ribs while he worked, and eventually all he had left was to make sure it was tied securely. He did not wear his other stays, and he did not wear two shirts like he normally would. 

He did, of course, stuff his breeches as per usual. Then he braced himself and peered into a long, upright mirror next to his bed.

He looked dapper, and his waist was indeed tapered and much smaller in proportion. His chest was accentuated, like he had originally suspected it would be. It was also very busty, and he was uncertain as to how he felt about it. He had never had large breasts, but yet they did not look like a woman's breasts. No, he did not look like a woman at all. He merely looked ...shapely?

Someone knocked on the door, and before Steve could answer, "Come in," Namor entered dressed in a black tailcoat and navy breeches, the prince's finest and most elegant clothes. 

"Steve, I --" Namor had attempted to speak. He halted to a stop and glanced Steve over head to toe. 

"Namor," Steve could not help but smile. It was hard not to be excited at having rendered Namor so speechless. "Shall we proceed?" he asked. He was already eager to ruin the moment with his poor dancing. 

Namor, then of course, seemed very confused but accepted Steve's arm all the same. "I have not finished what it was I intended to say before," he said while they walked down the hall and were met by the loud music that played downstairs.

There was the chatter of conversation and the giggles of the young girls comparing their dresses, as there were some dressed in Antebellum dresses and some in Regency Gowns that featured fancy hair dressings and bonnets. The men's fashion had not been so distinct, and each one wore a variation of breeches and a tailcoat. Neither Steve nor Namor wore a top hat, however, and Steve noted how Namor styled his hair as if the prince had just submerged from the water; it was curled and tight against his head. 

"I know," Steve finally replied when they entered the ballroom. "I will be pleased for you to continue in a more agreeable company, and I am terribly sorry if I gave you the impression, I was angry at you. I promise that I trust you a great deal. Rather, I have had something else altogether on my mind." 

"Oh," Namor raised a brow. "Perhaps a dance, first, Captain?" he asked and beat Steve to the punch.

Yet, Steve could not be happier. "Yes, please," he rushed to say. Then he realized he had never seen Namor dance before, or whether Namor knew how to dance at all. 

They took their places, and Steve was instantly enraptured by Namor's light feet and elegance as he guided Steve through one dance and then the next. Namor was ever so delicate when they switched partners between steps, and he moved like he had memorized each dance by heart. Even so, he made Steve feel like the only person in the room, and Namor kept his eyes fixated on Steve's own while he smirked devilishly. 

Steve almost tripped several times and did trip several times more, but Namor would chuckle and all was well. 

Jacqueline cut in for a couple of the dances, and strangely, so did Bucky who danced with both him and Namor. The boy was dressed in navy and also sported a red cravat and matching mask. 

Lord Falsworth made his own rounds. He refused to dance with anyone besides Jacqueline, much to Steve and Namor's disappointment. The Lord was a boisterous man and had made for an exciting dance partner. 

Eventually, even super soldiers got tuckered out, and Steve led Namor outside to sit in the garden.


	5. Chapter 5

Namor removed his tailcoat and his boots and sunk his feet into the snow. "It reminds me of home, the snow," he said. "Antarctica, as your people call it, I believe. It is always frozen and cold, and the perfect temperature to lounge."

"I prefer the cold as well," Steve agreed. The serum protected him against the weather, but he had not been so certain about being that cold. 

Then, "I had said I intended to kill you," Namor decided to continue, finally, their conversation from the other day now that they were away from prying ears. "But I quickly found I could not. I scarcely understood a thing about the human world, other than what little my mother had learned in the short time she had known my father. This had been very, very little you see; and I vastly underestimated such a great deal about what humans were like. 

"I only understood you were an important person, and thus, removing you should have made it easier for me to climb through the ranks. It was not long until I realized how many of you landers there truly are, and how meaningless your death would be. I -- I had already grown to care for you a great deal long before even then. It would not do to kill a single soul; it will not do, no. Instead, I thought to simply conquer you, and that I am sure you can imagine is just as equally impossible task even for I, the prince of Atlantis."

"Your people hate us so much that they would want us humans to die?" Steve asked gently. 

"My people have suffered a great deal because of your people. Their anger is just, and I will abate it, as is my duty."

"What will your people think of you returning with a human spouse, then?"

"They -- Captain Rogers?" Namor turned to face Steve. His face was hopeful. 

"Namor," Steve started. But suddenly from amongst the trees, the shadows shifted unnaturally, and the large, human-like bat crept to the side. Steve blinked. "I, wait." The bat moved, but it was still very much visible and not a figment of Steve's imagination. Its goal appeared to be to climb the banister and sneak into the manor via the balcony. 

Namor had been quick to sense the change in Steve's demeanor without the need to rely on Steve speaking a word. He moved to strike the first blow.

Yet the bat had been faster. It flew towards them and Steve dashed to pull Namor out of the way. The corset pulled taunted against his skin as he tried to then dodge, and all the breath in his chest was immediately extinguished like a flame inside his lungs. 

The bat's claws tore through his side and he keeled forward onto his knees. His blood marred the snow, but the blow ripped the corset open and his breath returned to him after he took several gasps.

Namor, who was ever graceful, rolled away onto his side and effortlessly struck an uppercut into the bat's thigh.

The bat screeched and redirected its path back into the darkness of the forest. 

"Steve," Namor sounded distraught, and was instantly at Steve's side.

"It will heal," Steve responded, although he knew he would require help to return to his room undetected. He had already bled profusely all over the patio's lustrous floor. 

Namor would not accept his answer and tried to argue instead. "Nonsense, I will carry you," and he crouched down in order to lift Steve into bridal carry. 

It hurt to laugh, but Steve could not help it. No doubt Namor would be able to carry him very easily; it was the commotion they will cause that would be the problem. Still, he allowed Namor to help him onto his feet, and Namor gently inspected the wound. He was curious about the off-white fabric of Steve's corset briefly and tested it between his fingers before he ripped it open further. Next, he removed his neck scarf and wrapped tightly it around Steve's torso to help the wound clot.

From atop the balcony, Lord Falsworth vaulted over the railing and landed gracefully on his feet. "Gentlemen, if you would, allow me to guide you inside through the servant’s quarters."

It turned out that Lord Falsworth used to be one of England's specialized soldiers from long before the turn of the century, and he had emerged from his self-imposed retirement due to something known as the Blood Baron. 

"The bat," Steve had put two and two together once he was comfortably in his bed. Thankfully, the servants had been too busy to care about the Lord and his two potentially drunken guests to be bothered. Meanwhile, Namor supported Steve's weight the entire walk up the stairs, and almost had gotten his wish to bridal carry Steve the for the rest. He did lay Steve to rest in the bed and summoned a maid to quickly fetch a warm bucket of water. 

"Not a bat," Lord Falsworth corrected, "A vampire. The costume is to conceal his identity, despite how ridiculous it all sounds."

Steve had recalled the word vampire from that one recently published story; The Vampyre, he believed it was. It had been something Sharon scrambled to purchase for her collection in the library back in Louisiana. He very much doubted it held an accurate account of what a vampire was, however. 

"I have heard of a similar creature where I am from," Namor said, but he did not explain further. Instead, he kept himself busy and worked on caring for Steve's wound, much to Steve's frustration.

The wound had clotted a good while back, and Steve began to feel lightheaded from hunger. He would need to eat more than usual as the serum worked to heal him.

Lord Falsworth continued his story and Steve dozed in and out awareness. He felt the warm water Namor pressed against his skin, and he felt how gently Namor touched the wound as he peeled away the neck scarf. Not after long Bucky was there with a tray of sandwiches since he already knew Steve quickly needed food.

The Lord took his leave, and eventually it had been simply Namor who remained. Thus, Steve sat forward and stripped off what was left of his shirt and corset. Underneath, the corset had left imprints all along his torso; and from the face Namor suddenly made, all along his back as well. 

"I do not want to hear it," Steve rushed to say before Namor could counter him. He reached for the sugar someone had retrieved for him and lightly packed the wound. It was not very deep, but he was willing to be cautious regardless of the fact. He could thread it closed himself faster than Namor too, if Namor was willing to relent his hold on the needle. 

Namor refused to relent his hold on it, and he then was greatly amused by something. "You are no longer uncomfortable being shirtless in my presence."

"Mhm," Steve grunted and resigned himself to Namor's unsolicited, but appreciated, care. "It is indeed very difficult to care when there is a gash present in my side. Moreover, I intended to be shirtless in front of you due to other, more enjoyable reasons." He flushed and cursed silently in his head. If Namor dared to tease him he would blame it on his wound. 

"Is that so?" Namor smirked. He began to thread Steve's wound closed just a gently as he cleaned it. "You have promised that you heal quickly," he flirted.

Steve was oddly jealous, as flirting did not come easy to him. Sadly, he was worse with his words than he was with his feet when he danced. Instead, he said, "Tell me, what are Atlantean weddings like? Um --"

That made Namor chuckle. "Nothing too different from your weddings, I presume. We have an altar, and the brides wear gowns, and so forth. To answer your question about my people accepting a human as my spouse; I do not know. But I refuse to let that stop me, and should they disapprove, they can come face me themselves should they have the courage."

"Then yes. I have given much thought to your proposal; I accept your hand in marriage, ecstatically. I have thought of little else these past two days."

They did not kiss. At least, not immediately. Namor finished threading Steve's wound, and Bucky came to check on them and tease when he realized they were now officially engaged. Jacqueline came next with more water and idle conversation that Namor forced himself to partake in out of courtesy. 

By the time everyone had settled down and let Steve be, it had almost been morning. The sun was yet up, but the sky had started to lighten, and Steve could hear the roosters give signal that the workday was to begin. Namor nestled against his better side and delicately embraced him. Steve played with Namor's hair; and there, they shared their first kiss.

Steve knocked his head into Namor's, and it was awkward and sloppy. So, they practiced for a time until Steve was sure he had healed enough to carry on with their plans to track the Blood Baron. 


End file.
